


Rubicon

by BuckinghamAlice



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU - Comicverse, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Hospitalization, M/M, NSFW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 00:41:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/830714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuckinghamAlice/pseuds/BuckinghamAlice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne lived through one very bad, stressful day and reacted in a curious way.  There was a line, and they crossed it.  Things weren't the same after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rubicon

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a reference to the old saying "crossing the Rubicon," which (in case you don't know) basically means reaching the point of no return.

Stress has a way of making people act in uncharacteristic ways. Sometimes that's a good thing (like those lucky people who are just genius under pressure) and sometimes it's not so good (like people who do self-destructive things because that's their only way to cope), but it's almost always as unexpected as it is uncharacteristic. These are not the responses you see coming, even when they come from you... boiling within you until the critical moment that they come to the surface, turn all the air in the room to steam, and knock you flat on your back.

Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne lived through one very bad, stressful day and reacted in a curious way.

There was a line, and they crossed it.

Things weren't the same after.

Batman was always a quiet, distant figure, even with friends and family, but after the day the line was crossed, he was actually downright dismissive and bordering on heartless where Superman was concerned. This was during working hours, on missions and at the Watchtower. During private time, Bruce shut Clark out completely. Clark had expected an awkward conversation about why it could never happen again, why it was a mistake... but there was none. He figured they'd spend a couple of weeks avoiding the issue, maybe avoiding each other, but would eventually feel their friendship relax into what it had been before. But that didn't happen. Clark had come to think of that fateful day as the Rubicon, because it felt like there was no turning back.

Even though he didn’t feel he had done anything _really_ wrong, Clark wanted to apologize to Bruce. It wasn't that he was sorry for what had happened -- quite the contrary -- but he was sorry that this thing, this one indiscretion had caused a ripple that had, in effect, ruined his relationship with his best friend. He wished that he could take that moment back. Well, on an intellectual level he wished he could take it back, at any rate. But the Rubicon had happened, and there was nothing that could change that now. It seemed that there were two options at this point: one was that Bruce could man up, deal with the fact that this thing had happened, and they could put it behind them as mature adults; two was that Clark could get Bruce out of his Kevlar armor and his utility belt, dangle him over the side of a very tall building, and hold him there until he apologized for treating him like pond scum for the past month. But Clark knew Bruce (and himself) well enough to know that neither of those things would actually happen.

But sometimes life has a way of dealing the same rotten hand of cards over and over... and just over a month after the Rubicon, things got bad again. Dick got hurt. It wasn't the come-and-have-Alfred-patch-you-up kind of hurt, either. He was out on patrol and he had just caught a couple of thugs breaking into an electronics warehouse. While he was grappling with one of the guys, the other got a lucky shot in between the plates of his armor. Momentarily distracted by his pain, a third member of the thugs' party emerged from the shadows and clubbed Dick in the head with a piece of pipe and beat him until he assumed he was dead. He wasn’t found until hours later, when a delivery truck came and the driver spotted Dick’s lifeless figure and called the ambulance.

It was Alfred who contacted Clark with the news that Dick was in the hospital. He didn't take time to get details, just flew, knowing that Bruce would be in a state... and no matter what else had gone on between them, he would support him through this. But when he arrived at the hospital, he knew right away that things were serious. He found Jason, Roy, Stephanie, Tim, and Kon in the ICU waiting room. Jason looked like he could burst into flames, and Kon’s arm was protectively thrown around Tim, who was on the verge of tears and holding a Kleenex balled in his fist. Clark started to sit down with the boys and get some details from one of them, but Tim informed him that Alfred had left word with the attendant that Clark was to be immediately allowed to come back to Dick's bedside, despite the two visitor limit, no matter who else was in there. When he walked over to the attendant and gave his name, he was escorted to a room in the back of the unit with walls made of windows. Bruce was standing just outside the room, looking through the glass at the figure in the bed. Alfred was inside the room, standing rigid with his arms crossed and worry lining his face. But most heartbreaking was the sight of Barbara right beside Dick's bed, holding his hand, head down and crying.

Bruce looked up at Clark, looking as grave as Clark had ever seen him and nodded his head at him. "Thank you for coming," he managed to say. Clark put his head down. "Of course I came. For Dick." He walked closer to the glass and peered in, not wanting to go inside and leave Bruce alone again, outside the sad scene in the hospital room. "It's as serious as it looks, isn't it?" Clark asked sadly. "He's currently in a medically induced coma," Bruce said flatly. "To reduce the swelling to his brain. He may need surgery, but it’s too soon to tell. He may come out of it.”

" _May_?" Clark asked sadly. Bruce couldn't answer. A quick glance at his face showed that he was dangerously close to losing it. Dick was like a son to him, and was his first partner. Losing him would be difficult for everyone, but for Bruce, it would be a blow from which he could never possibly recover.

Everyone stood still and silent. Barbara finally stopped crying, as if she had no more tears, and Alfred insisted that she go and have a cup of coffee or anything, just to catch her breath. He escorted her down to the cafeteria, leaving Dick alone in his hospital room. Bruce walked in slowly and quietly, and went to the side of his bed. Affectionately he ran his hand through Dick’s dark hair (which would have to be shaved if the surgery became necessary), and took the young man’s hand. Bruce glanced over his shoulder at Clark, who was still in the hallway looking in, and gave him a look that told him he was not only welcome but needed by Dick’s bedside. Clark went and held the young man’s other hand, and couldn’t help but see the small child he had been when he first came to live with Bruce. He remembered seeing the pure joy on his young face the first time he flew with Superman. He remembered the many battles of wills with Bruce when he became a teenager. He remembered the pride he felt when Dick came to him for guidance when he was on the verge of becoming Nightwing. He remembered a hundred different occasions when Dick’s smile had lit up the dark Gotham skyline, and the even more rare occasions when Dick’s natural sunshine had spilled over onto Bruce and made him beam as well. Looking down at Dick and seeing how small he looked, with his face looking as still but less angelic than when he allowed himself sleep, Clark felt uneasy. The last person this should have happened to was Dick. He didn’t deserve this. He meant too much to too many people. Seeing him looking so utterly crumpled, and seeing Bruce looking like he felt powerless, made Clark feel guilty, like he should have been there. Before he realized it, a tear slid down his cheek.

He had to say something for Bruce. Had to think of something to lighten the mood, maybe break through the wall of pain that was keeping Bruce so passive and silent. “Do you remember that time we were on that cruise and Dick, who was all of thirteen, started flirting with Lois?” Clark forced a smile and tried to laugh, but only a sigh came out.

Bruce looked up at Clark for a moment, and the corner of his mouth curved upwards. Then, looking down at the young man in the bed, he said, “I don’t want to reminisce about him. He’s not past tense. It’s not over. Not yet.”

“Of course,” Clark said, silently chiding himself for his foolishness. Why didn’t he realize how that would sound before he had said it? “But he’s going to be okay. You know that, right?” Then, to reassure himself as much as Bruce, he restated, “He’s going to be okay.”

Bruce nodded. “Well, he’s strong and stubborn.” This time Clark managed a smile, but it was genuine. “Wonder where he gets that from?”

Bruce rolled his eyes, but his facial expression was more natural, and less pained than it had been. “At any rate, those traits will be to his benefit in this case. The doctors say if he makes it through the night, which he looks like he should, his chances will be very good.” Clark nodded silently. They were still sitting silently, one on each side of Dick’s hospital bed, when Alfred and Babs came back. They were each carrying two cups of coffee because they had brought some for Clark and Bruce as well. As Bruce gratefully drank the warm (but not hot) black coffee, Alfred said, “I sent Master Tim and the others home, sir. I promised someone would call if there was any change in Master Dick’s condition. Miss Gordon would like to stay here, and I shall stay with you, sir.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” Bruce said, looking at the older man with love and admiration. Clark knew Bruce wouldn’t admit it, but he was probably wondering how Alfred dealt with seeing him injured all the time. He was always able to take it in stride, help him, patch him up, and give him a sarcastic or witty remark in the same breath as giving him his unconditional love and encouragement.

Alfred came and sat next to Clark, and Babs sat next to Bruce. The four of them settled in for the night, each of them determined to be there in the morning, when Dick simply had to wake up.

After a couple of hours, a nurse asked Dick’s visitors to step out as it was time for the shift change, and visitors weren’t allowed during that time. The four of them silently made their way to the waiting room, and as they prepared to take uncomfortable seats, Bruce said, “You know, we don’t all need to stay here. If any of you want to go home and get some rest, I would certainly call if there were any changes.” Babs was the first to object. “No. I’m going to be there, holding his hand, when he wakes up.”

Alfred patted Bruce on the shoulder. “My place is with you, sir.” And then Bruce looked to Clark. Something about the look on his face told Clark that he may be saying that he wanted him to go, but Clark knew that wasn’t the case. Clark inclined his head toward Alfred and simply said, “Same.”

As soon as they were allowed, they returned to Dick’s bedside and resumed their vigil. And they were all pleased when, around four or five in the morning, Dick began to stir in his sleep and come to. When the doctor checked him out again, he reported that because Dick woke up on his own, this was a sign that he should make a full recovery. They even said that he would probably be able to leave the ICU come the afternoon, if all was still well. But the doctor did want him to continue resting, so after everyone had a chance to tell him how happy they were to see him come around, and how much they cared about him, and how they’d have never forgiven him if he had left them, they all prepared to leave.

Just as they were all stepping off the elevator into the main hospital lobby, Bruce pulled Clark back for a moment and simply said, “Meet me in the cave this evening. I’d like to discuss some things with you.” And he left, without giving Clark a chance to even respond. But Clark knew that he didn’t need to respond… Bruce must have known he’d agree to be there. Clark had tried at first to reach out to Bruce, get him to talk, but Bruce wouldn’t do it… now he just assumed Clark would jump at the chance. For once, Clark cursed his dependability and predictability. He flew home, telling himself that he would be aloof with Bruce and wouldn’t make anything easy on him. And if this discussion had nothing to do with the Rubicon, Clark would play it cool and act as if nothing had happened, but he would still be distant. Bruce should get a taste of his own medicine for once.

When Clark got back to his apartment in Metropolis, he had every intention of showering and changing clothes and then heading to work at the Planet, but as soon as he saw his bed, he realized at once how very tired he was. He stripped out of the Superman uniform, curled up on his bed for what was meant to be a brief nap, and slept for several hours.

 

_Clark found himself in a dark Gotham alley next to Batman. That day had started out like any other day, but it had gone south quickly when news broke that the Joker had escaped from Arkham and had rendezvoused with Lex Luthor, something that never signaled good things to come. By the evening, Superman had faced Luthor in Metropolis and tailed him to Gotham, while Batman had pursued the Joker, who had yet to do anything illegal. But when the two villains met up, they revealed what they had collaborated on – a kryptonite bomb._

_It contained a high concentration of kryptonite at its core, so Superman was weakened immediately. Batman lunged on the bomb, attempting to diffuse it. With less than a second to spare, Batman was able to neutralize it. The police arrived just as Superman swept Batman up to the nearest rooftop._

_“Why… why did you carry me off?” Bruce asked, studying Clark who had yet to release him. “You almost died,” Clark responded indignantly, touching down on the roof and letting go of his friend._

_“_ I _almost died?” Bruce demanded. “_ You _almost died. That was a kryptonite bomb, Clark.”_  
 _“Which_ nearly _went off in your hands,” Clark huffed. “You usually do that much faster.”_  
 _Bruce groaned. “So you brought me here to criticize me… after I saved your ass?”_  
 _“I’m not… I…” Clark stammered. “I was… I guess you could say I was scared for a moment. That bomb… it was too quick and too powerful. If you’d have been just a second longer… and I couldn’t have done anything for you.”_

_Bruce sighed. “And when I saw you stagger back like that I just knew I’d have to act fast… and I could have been faster but my hands started to fumble… I guess I was thinking about…” his voice trailed off._  
 _“I could have lost you,” Clark said. “I almost lost you.”_

_And then it happened. They locked eyes for a split second, and before either of them knew what exactly they were doing, they were on each other, kissing with the fevered intensity of two people who had courted destruction and lived to tell about it. The kissing continued, and Clark backed Bruce up against the wall of the stairwell that led to the roof. Bruce’s hands explored Clark’s spandex clad body and Clark cursed the armor that made up the bat suit, as he wanted nothing more than to touch Bruce and actually feel the man, not the Batman._

_“Take some of this stuff off,” Clark managed to breathe between kisses. “I can’t get to you.” Bruce let out a small laugh. “That’s the idea behind armor.” Clark rolled his eyes, kissed Bruce’s jaw, and started to remove what pieces of the bat suit he could without looking. Bruce stopped him and said, “Here.” He released a little catch and his bottom half was down to just tights and boots. Clark pinned Bruce against the wall with his body and continued kissing him, the bulge in his red briefs rubbing against the matching one in Bruce’s tights. Clark began to grind against Bruce, who shuddered and lost control of his breathing. Clark grabbed Bruce’s hips roughly, leaving two hand shaped bruises on him, and began to thrust against him. “Oh, God,” Bruce sighed. “We have to fuck. I can’t wait anymore.” Clark smiled coyly and removed his suit at super speed. There it was. He was naked as a newborn in front of God and everyone, as his father might say. Bruce drank in the sight of him and sighed. “You really are perfect.” It wasn’t flattery or sex talk… it was an empirical statement of fact and he delivered it as such. But it still brought a slight blush to Clark’s cheeks. “Thank you.”_

_Bruce removed the rest of the bat suit and revealed his scarred and battered body to Clark, but he left the cowl on. It was silly, Clark thought, because he knew who Bruce was. Taking the cowl off wouldn’t reveal anything he didn’t already know. But Clark tried to ignore it. He put his arms around Bruce’s waist and drew him close again, pressing another hard, passionate kiss to his lips. Bruce put his arms around Clark’s neck and he grabbed his black hair hard, hard enough to hurt anyone else. Slowly he ran his hands down Clark’s bare back, over impossibly smooth, warm skin to the small of his back, and then finally to rest on that perfect ass. Clark instinctively spread his legs enough to allow Bruce access, and before he knew it, a finger was slowly making its way into Clark’s entrance. His breathing hitched and he threw his head back as Bruce penetrated his tight hole. Clark dug the fingers on one hand into Bruce’s hip (probably a bit harder than he meant to), and he pressed the other into the wall behind them. Bruce slowly worked one finger inside Clark before adding another. He scissored his fingers and pounded harder, just barely beginning to lay a light stroke over Clark’s prostate._

_Clark threw his head forward and squeezed his eyes shut, savoring the fact that this felt better than he could have imagined. “Oh, God, that’s good, Bruce,” he murmured against the smaller man’s shoulder. “Do you want me to fuck you?” Bruce asked, almost in that Batman growl, right against Clark’s ear._ God, yes, fuck me raw _, Clark wanted to say, but he could only manage a nod and a whimpered, “yes.” Bruce thrust his fingers harder, sending a blaze of white-hot heat through Clark. “Say it,” Bruce said. Clark bit his lip to keep from moaning. Struggling to use words and not the animalistic sounds he felt in his throat, he said, “Fuck me, Bruce.”_

_“Ask nicely,” Bruce demanded, always in control. “Will you please fuck me?” Clark almost begged. “I want you to fuck me.” Bruce smiled, reached up and removed his cowl and pressed another kiss to Clark’s lips, teasing him with his tongue. Clark gently cradled Bruce’s face in his hands and looked into the stormy dark blue eyes that always hid so much. There was not a trace of deception in them now, and it made Clark want him all the more. They switched positions, so that Clark was against the wall, and he turned around to face the wall with his ass sticking out toward Bruce. Without wasting another moment, Bruce grabbed Clark’s hips roughly and stuck the tip of his cock between Clark’s legs. He couldn’t stand to wait much longer, to tease him like he wanted to. He had to fuck him then. With no more lubricant than the precome that had dripped down his shaft and a little spit, Bruce slid into Clark, slowly at first, because he was still quite tight. Clark moaned and balled his hands into fists as his body adjusted to the strange sensation of being penetrated. Bruce moved slowly at first because he felt Clark tense beneath him. But after a moment, Clark’s hole stretched a bit, and the slight burn went from feeling foreign to feeling very welcome and Clark began to push back on Bruce’s hard cock. With a smile, Bruce again took the lead and began to pump harder, still holding onto Clark’s waist._

_“God, Bruce,” Clark moaned. “Ooh, fuck, that feels good.” Clark attempted to grab onto his aching cock, but his hands were glued to the wall. He had actually pressed so hard that his fists had made little dents in the stucco and had all but become part of the wall. Bruce, who could barely breathe without moaning, moved one of his hands to Clark’s abs and then slowly moved down to grab the base of his erection. Bruce began to stroke Clark’s dick slowly but surely and eventually began to fist it in time with his own thrusts. “Come for me,” he purred in Clark’s ear as he tried to control his own ragged breaths. Almost as if on cue, Clark came with a groan, splattering the wall, and seeing everything in the grey Gotham skyline in vivid Technicolor for the first time. His legs wobbled unsteadily below his body as ecstasy shot through him, and he was thankful for the support of the wall. He brushed a soft kiss on Bruce’s arm and put his hand over Bruce’s hand, which was still slowly fisting his cock. Bruce relaxed his hold on Clark’s hip and wrapped his arm around his middle, drawing their bodies even closer. Bruce was in Clark to the hilt, and he continued to pound feverishly as the sound of their flesh colliding flooded the air around them._

_“Your turn,” Clark said. “I want to see you come. Let me see it.” Bruce kissed Clark’s neck as he pulled out. Clark turned to face him, his face bright with a post-coital glow and his blue eyes slightly glazed. Clark leaned against the wall behind him and grasped Bruce’s cock, causing him to moan in a most undignified manor. Clark tugged at Bruce’s erection as fast as he could without using his powers and was soon rewarded when Bruce came, grunting Clark’s name. Clark held Bruce’s trembling body in his strong arms and they kissed again, this time with almost as much passion but none of the urgency as the first kisses._

_The encounter had not been a long one, and the afterglow didn’t last very long either. As soon as Bruce’s mind and body were fully reunited, he disentangled himself from Clark and began to put the bat suit back on. “That may have been the most irresponsible thing I’ve ever done,” he grumbled. “I only hope no one saw us… exposed.” Clark wanted to respond, but the fact that he genuinely had no idea what to say paled next to the fact that even if he had something to say, Bruce was gone. Clark gathered the pieces of the Superman suit and looked out over the Gotham skyline. He could see Bruce, already a couple of rooftops over, his zip lines taut. Clark couldn’t remember ever feeling like as big a fool as he did in that moment, clutching his uniform to his chest and watching Bruce race away from him._

 

Clark awakened with a start. He had been sleeping for hours and his psyche was torturing him with a dream about the Rubicon. He hadn’t replayed it that clearly in his mind since about a week after it had happened. He hated to even think about it. It wasn’t that the memory was bad, because it wasn’t. But the last image he saw, the one of himself looking about as pitiful as he ever had in his life, was difficult to digest. He was _Superman_ , for crying out loud… yet here he was, reduced to pouting like a teenage girl over a guy. A guy who made it perfectly clear that he wasn’t interested. Thinking back to the night of the Rubicon made him feel stupid, and he hated to feel stupid.

Clark wiped sleep from his eyes as he dragged himself out of bed. He went to his kitchen, flipped on his coffee pot, and shuffled into the bathroom to shower. Once clean and dressed, he poured himself a cup of coffee with cream and sugar, and made himself a piece of toast. As he spread the toast with his mother’s homemade apple butter, he thought back to that night on the rooftop. Bruce had seemed mad with him afterwards… but why? He replayed every detail and he couldn’t think of anything he had done wrong. He hadn’t been forceful and he didn’t think he was too rough. Bruce seemed to enjoy himself. No, this wasn’t about Clark. This was a “Bruce is emotionally unavailable” thing. He was taking it out on Clark, and rather unfairly, if Clark did say so. And he was going to let Bruce know it that evening. He finished his toast and coffee and headed out, knowing that he should have been at work hours ago and would have no good excuse to offer as to his lateness.

By the time the evening came, Clark was almost looking forward to his conversation with Bruce. He had decided that he would be as cold as he possibly could and let Bruce know that he was tired of his crap. He had been holding all of this in for too long, and now, even if Bruce simply wanted to talk about the weather, Clark was going to let him have it.

When he arrived at the cave, Bruce and the Batmobile were gone. Clark would have to wait until he was in from patrol, whenever that would be. Hours, probably. He sat down at the computer, researched what law they might be able to use against Lex Luthor to finally get him some jail time for this latest incident with the Joker, spoke with Diana (who was on monitor duty at the Watchtower), and did a chemical analysis of the ink in the pen in his pocket. Growing impatient, he paced the floor, then flew back and forth. Bruce would choose the night he had told Clark to come and talk to be the night he did an extra long patrol.

Clark had actually dozed off on one of the cots in the medical area when he heard that Bruce had returned. “Put yourself in sick bay to get out of having this conversation?” Bruce asked, hands on hips. Clark rolled his eyes as he sat up. “Nope. Believe me, I’ve been looking forward to this.” Clark followed Bruce over to the computer and stood tentatively behind his seat. “First, I’d like to thank you again for being there at the hospital,” Bruce began, pulling off his cowl. “I know I probably should have said so at the time, but I was very glad you were there. You were a big help to me.”

Clark nodded. “I had to be there. Like I said… for Dick.” Bruce glanced casually up at him and shrugged. “I know. But still. I was glad you were there.” He paused momentarily. “And I thought you’d like to know that when I last spoke to the hospital, they said Dick was doing very well. He’s speaking and can walk on his own. They said he may be able to leave the hospital the day after tomorrow if we engage a private nurse.”

“Oh, that is good news, Bruce,” Clark said, unable to suppress the smile. “What a relief!” Bruce nodded. “Yes. Yes it is.” They fell into an awkward, almost uncomfortable, silence. “So was that all you wanted to talk about, or…?” Clark let his voice trail off. This question was just to jolt Bruce into speaking as he knew that couldn’t have been what he wanted to tell him.

“Well, not exactly,” Bruce began. “I just… I noticed yesterday and even now you seem a little short with me. And, frankly, I wondered why. If this goes on much longer, it’s sure to complicate our working relationship.” Clark felt his jaw drop. _He_ had been short with _Bruce_? This was unbelievable. “Are you kidding me? That’s a joke, right?” Bruce turned his chair all the way around to face Clark. “No. Why would I joke?”

Clark rolled his eyes and felt an emotion that was some combination of anger and indignation. “Well, doesn’t that just take the fucking cake? You’ve been treating me like crap for more than a month, but if I greet you with anything less than unqualified enthusiasm _I’m_ the distant one? Wow. Holy fucking wow.” Bruce’s eyes widened a little, but Clark could tell he was determined not to drop his poker face. “Well, you’ve grown a lot more comfortable with profanity since our last little tête-à-tête. I think I’ve only ever heard you use that word on one other occasion, and then it was under _quite_ different circumstances, if you recall.”

“So you admit that happened?” Clark asked. “I don’t remember ever denying it,” Bruce answered flatly. “And I don’t recall treating you _like crap_ , as you say, either. We haven’t had many chances to talk or work together, but I didn’t imagine there was anything wrong.”

Clark sighed. “That’s what’s wrong with you. You never imagine anything is wrong unless you can see it for yourself in black and white. You _have_ been distant and colder than usual… you’ve treated me like I was some flea-bitten dog one of the kids brought home.” Bruce cocked his head curiously. “That was never my intention.”

“Your intentions don’t really matter, though, do they?” Clark asked bitterly. “Like, for example, we certainly didn’t intend to have sex on a rooftop, but we did. Didn’t we?” Awkward silence fell over the room again. Bruce turned his chair back to the computer and finally said, “Clark, I’m afraid I’m not really up to any full-blown hysterics this evening, so I’d appreciate if you could keep this down to mildly irritated. That would make matters so much easier on us both.” But Clark was past mildly irritated and was quite frankly enjoying showing it for once. He kicked the back of Bruce’s chair. It wasn’t even hard enough to shake him, but it was still a highly uncharacteristic gesture. “What is the matter with you?” Bruce demanded.

“I’ve been trying to talk to you for over a month, but you’ve been brushing me off. Now that we’re finally here, you’re openly mocking me and denying that I feel the way I feel,” Clark blurted. “Why did you even want to talk to me? Why did you imagine I was being so ‘short’ with you?”

Bruce sighed. “I wasn’t trying to mock you. Honestly. I was just trying – and failing – to use humor to lighten the mood. And I didn’t guess _why_ you were being short with me… but I had no idea it would have anything to do with that night…” Clark took a deep breath to calm himself before responding. “How could it be about anything else, Bruce? We never talked about it… and you’ve pushed me away every time I’ve tried. Maybe I was a little cold because that’s all I’ve gotten from _you_.”

“If you’re going to get wounded or mad at me for being the way I am, maybe you need to call me on it when I get like that,” Bruce muttered. “I can’t even tell anymore.” He turned to face Clark again. “And I am sorry. Did you ever think that maybe I hadn’t wanted to talk about it because I didn’t know what to say to you? But if _you_ want to talk, let’s talk.”

Clark sat on the edge of the console and sighed. “Let me just ask you one thing: are you mad at me? About that night or anything else.” Bruce glanced up at Clark, looking confused. “Why should I be mad at _you_? I’m a little mad at _myself_ , but not at you.”

“Mad at yourself because you regret it?” Clark asked. Bruce considered this a moment before answering. “It’s not so much that I regret _that_ it happened, but I do regret _how_ it happened. I lost control of myself and could have put us both in danger. We were so exposed. It was completely inappropriate.” Clark rolled his eyes. “You weren’t the only one up there who had lost control, you know. You don’t need to blame yourself for absolutely everything.”

“The fact remains that neither of us can ever lose control like that again,” Bruce began. “It’s too much of a risk.” Clark nodded. “And that’s fine. I mean, I don’t care if it never happens again… I just don’t want you to treat me like I disgust you because it happened the first time. I mean, I feel like we’re acting out the last act from _When Harry Met Sally_ here… and I don’t make a great Meg Ryan.”

Bruce laughed. “Well, then again, there’s only one Meg Ryan. And you don’t disgust me, Sally. You never did. And I never said it couldn’t happen again… it just can’t happen during work hours.”

The significance of what Bruce had said wasn’t lost on Clark, but he wasn’t ready to address that yet. “You know, I felt really stupid after that night. The way you looked when you left… like you realized too late that you had made the biggest mistake of your life… and then you seemed to want nothing to do with me afterwards. I just felt like a big fool for not getting it.” Bruce furrowed his brows. “You’re not stupid. And that wasn’t how I felt. I just… I’ve never been out of control like that before. Maybe I was… I suppose I really was scared. That’s why I couldn’t talk to you.”

“I can understand that,” Clark nodded. “I just wish I had _known_ that at the time. I mean, none of this was easy for me. Feeling so… rejected. And by you of all people.” Bruce laughed and raised one eyebrow. “ _Me_ of all people? What does that mean?” Clark laughed softly. “I just wouldn’t want to be rejected by you. Out of everyone, you are one of the people I would like to… I dunno… _accept_ me.” Bruce nodded. That might have sounded silly to anyone else, but Bruce understood.

“And can I ask you one question?” Bruce began. When Clark nodded his consent, Bruce went on. “Why do you think that happened that night? I mean, we’ve been though much worse than that on numerous occasions, but we’ve never ripped each others’ clothes off before.” Clark thought for a moment. “Is it possible that it wasn’t the stress of the close call that made us want to do… that? Maybe we just both wanted to do it.” Bruce nodded. “That’s probably the case. I guess now that I think about it, I had been wanting to do that for a while.”

Clark smiled shyly. “I guess I had as well.” Slowly, Clark reached out and took Bruce’s face in his hands, like he had done on the roof that night. Bruce still had the black eye makeup on that he wore under his cowl, but it was smeared and messy now. His hair was matted with sweat and stuck to his forehead. This was not perfectly coiffed and immaculately dressed and groomed Bruce Wayne that most people got to see, nor was it Batman. He was the very real and vulnerable cross section of the two… a man that so few people got to see. A man Clark found beautiful and interesting and irresistible. He leaned in gently and gave Bruce a soft kiss.

“What was that for?” Bruce asked rather breathlessly, with his eyes closed. “I guess I just wanted to do it,” Clark said with a smile. Bruce gently placed his hands on Clark’s. He could have pulled away, but he didn’t, nor did he want to. “I think I realized something,” Bruce said. “When I almost lost Dick, it was the most terrifying thing that’s happened to me in a long time. But if Dick had died, at least he would have known how I felt about him. You… you don’t know. And I almost lost you, and it scared me.” Clark wasn’t sure if he meant that he almost lost him to the kryptonite bomb or to the rift that had been between them, but in either case he pressed another kiss to Bruce’s lips. “I want you to know,” Bruce continued.

Clark smiled at him. “I do now.”

*************************************

About a week and a half later, Clark and Bruce were in bed together at Clark’s apartment. It was a bright and sunny Saturday afternoon, and Clark felt slightly scandalous spending it in bed… but not enough so to turn Bruce down when he suggested it. They had been spending their little time together in Clark’s apartment, because Bruce’s house was rather full lately. Dick was convalescing there and Dr. Thompkins was staying to tend to him. Babs was also staying there, to be near Dick. In addition to Tim and Alfred, there was little privacy in Wayne Manor. Bruce loved his family members, of course, but lately he and Clark just wanted to be alone together whenever they could.

Clark got out of bed and wandered into the kitchen, wearing the grey Calvin Klein boxer briefs he had bought specifically to impress Bruce. “Hey, do you want some popcorn?” he called. “No, but I could use something to drink,” Bruce answered. Clark put the popcorn in the microwave and got two root beers out of the refrigerator. When he went back to the room with the snacks, he found Bruce sitting on the bed wearing the shirt from the Superman suit.

Clark grinned. “What’s this?” Bruce gave Clark a coy smile and pushed his sleeves up. “Well, I had to throw something on,” Bruce said. “And since you left me here naked, I figured it might as well be something of yours.” Clark smiled and sat down next to Bruce on the bed. “I left you naked because that’s how I like you.” He kissed Bruce’s jaw and ran a finger up his arm. “But I must admit… I like this, too.” Bruce took the bowl of popcorn and the two cans of root beer from Clark, set them aside and took his hand. Smiling, Bruce pulled Clark closer and kissed him.

“Mm,” Clark sighed. “Okay, now we really need to rehydrate or one of us is going to pass out soon.” Bruce laughed. “Thank you for the ‘one of us.’” He opened one of the cans of root beer and took a long drink. Clark ate a large handful of popcorn. “You know,” Clark began, still crunching, “I’m really glad you’re here.”

Bruce smiled and stole a couple of pieces of popcorn. “Because of all the sex.” Clark grinned and pulled the bowl back. “You said you didn’t want any,” he laughed. “But no, not just because you give me the good lovin’ and everything. I’m just glad we’re here… together.”

Bruce stole another kiss, and another handful of popcorn. “I’m glad, too.” He munched the popcorn. “And, y’know, I’m not very good at all this romantic stuff, so I want to thank you for just letting this whole thing happen naturally.” Clark smiled and gave Bruce another kiss. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m happy with things as they are.”

“Well, good,” Bruce said with a cheeky smile. “I just figured you’d be dying to tell people that you’re my boyfriend or whatever.” Clark laughed. “Oh, yeah. I can’t wait to hear everyone I know ask me if I’m _sure_ I want to subject myself to this.” Bruce rolled his eyes, pretending to be annoyed, though Clark could see through it. “Yes, and if only these theoretical naysayers knew how often I have to fight you off of me, you insatiable beast. Frankly, I think I’m the one who should reconsider if I want to subject myself to this.”

Clark grinned. “You love it.” Bruce kissed him. “I do.”

They both laid back in bed, drinking their root beet silently and eating Clark’s popcorn. Once the bowl was empty, Clark glanced over at Bruce, and Bruce got that sideways smile that Clark loved. “Stop looking at me like that,” Bruce said. Clark laughed and asked, “How am I looking at you?”

“It was that ‘you’re the sexiest man alive and I want you to take me over and over’ look again, Clark,” Bruce said flatly. “Oh, was that the one?” Clark asked. “Well, I can stop with that look if I’m being too insatiable for your taste.”

Bruce thought about it for a moment before stripping out of the Superman shirt and discarding it on the floor. “I just remembered that I love when you’re insatiable.” Clark grinned and pulled Bruce on top of him. “I thought you might.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for getting a bit sticky-sweet at the end, but after the stress of Dick being injured and the stress of the argument they had, our boys needed it, wouldn't you say?


End file.
